DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
.
"You're still really angry at me, aren't you?" Hermione asked with no little resentment.
Harry, who'd been staring stonily at the broken fragments of his wand for hours, said, "No. No, Hermione… I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there, and you were incredible. I'd be dead if you hadn't been there to help me."
His words did nothing to ease her mind, for his expression, cold and aloof, belied all that he had said. He was still angry with her. The little joy they had amassed before their excursion to Godric's Hollow lay in ashes.
Her dreams were haunted by visions of giant darting snakes, and rows of graves bearing the names of all her near and dear ones.
Sheets of snow were falling down from the dreary sky, the air was bitterly cold, the ground was barren... altogether an enchanting little assortment of allegories for misery. While Harry wallowed, Hermione perused The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. It was prime Skeetershite: Dramatic and deeply in love with its own sensationalism. It certainly painted an awful picture of Dumbledore's family life. She kept a metaphorical bucket of salt beside her as she read.
When she reached a bit about Dumbledore's friendship with Grindelwald, she rushed to share it with Harry. He was horrified, deeply disturbed, and felt, most prominently, angered and betrayed. It was a fall of the idol, God is dead moment for him, and she understood his rage, but... But.
To her, it seemed eminently forgivable; a childish folly, a dangerous but passing dalliance that Dumbledore clearly grew out of. For which hot-blooded youth was immune to the impressionability, the zeal, and the hubris of being young and brilliant? The difficulty of his circumstance must certainly have played a part. As much as Hermione liked to believe that her mind wasn't all that malleable, it might just have been her pride that had set up that conviction. Who knew how she might change as she got older? Who could say what pieces of her might fall off, what notions she might abandon, what ideals she may stow away? It was her situation – as a muggleborn and hence a target – that had brought her to the right side of the war. Would she have been the same if she had been born to a conservative, pureblood family like... um, certain people she knew? And he... um, those certain people... were now fighting for the light.
She hated that division; light and dark. It was too simplistic... too idealised. If anything, war was one big monochromatic slab of impenetrable black. She didn't have any righteousness left in her.
What a bleak world it would be if people weren't allowed to change... if they were bound eternally to their fledgling principles... if they were never permitted to break away from their past...
It was the ones that didn't change that deserved censure. Those that stuck staunchly by their regressive or twisted ideals even when they could – and should – have known better.
She didn't say any of that to Harry. It wasn't the time for a debate about ethics.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."
He threw his hands over his head and shouted, "Maybe I am! Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And fucking again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"
The stretch of pristine, virgin snow between them seemed to expand as they stared at each other. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed.
"He loved you," Hermione murmured, "I know he loved you."
"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in."
He turned away then, and she didn't follow. For older Dumbledore's secrecy and shiftiness, she had no justifications.
Hermione's blood was gushing and her breathing was shallow. She shone the bright like emanating from her wand all across the hillside, as her heart, vibrating with palpitations, climbed up her throat. It appeared that she was alone... but she had thought... she was almost sure she had seen a shadow pass through the thorny bramble...
Harry emerged from the tent after what seemed like a decade had passed, looking like his nap hadn't done him any good. By then, daylight had seeped into the gloom, lighting up the snow, and proving once and for all that there was, in fact, nobody there.
"How about we pack up early and move on?"
She agreed readily.
Five-year-old Hermione Granger stood between mum and dad as they all stared up at a thick, lush canopy of green leaves.
"Well, there goes our afternoon of cloud-watching," dad said, sounding sad, "Bollocks!"
"Language, Robert!" mum scolded.
"Ah, sorry marm. Anyhoo. Lemonade, anyone?"
"Oh, yes, please!" Hermione chimed.
While mum and dad went to rummage around in the cooler by their tent, Hermione glared angrily up at the branches that were blocking the view of the sky. How dare the silly things ruin dad's plans? She raised her hands and wished that they'd shift around just a little...
And lo and behold they did! They did!
"DAD! MUM! CLOUDS!" Hermione cried with delight.
They came running out, bewildered, as Hermione clapped her hands and laughed.
"Wha – What on earth?" Dad stared up at the branches with big, wide eyes.
"How did that happen? How is that possible?" mum asked, grabbing dad's arm, "Robert, How –"
"Wind?" suggested dad, weakly.
"Wind?!" mum repeated, "Those boughs are massive! How are they bending like that? It isn't physica –"
"Look!" Hermione, who had lain down on the forest floor, exclaimed, "That cloud looks just like Grandpa Bruce with his pipe!"
xxx
Eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger cast a warming charm on the icy ground of the Forest of Dean and lay down with a sigh. The leafless, naked branches overhead formed a thick mesh through which tiny mosaiced chucks of sky were visible. She raised her wand and pushed them aside, braiding them together intricately so that they formed a circlet, and the firmament was fully revealed. There was not a single cloud to be seen. But then again, she had more than enough of the symbolic sort in her life.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,
And the forests will echo with laughter.
Harry's sulking was driving her barmy. They'd been sharing her wand for the past three days, and every time he'd ask for hers he'd have this woe-is-me-and-a-plague-upon-thee look on his face that was so bloody irksome that Hermione itched to tell him to shove off.
She tried something a little more productive.
"Summon this," she ordered, and placed her copy of The History of Magic a short distance away from him.
"Wha – why?" he asked, frowning.
"Just do it, will you!"
It was obvious that he wanted to say, 'You're mental, fuck off,' but he gathered the fortitude to mutter, "Give me your wand then."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"But – what – how the hell do you expect me to summon that stupid book?"
"It is not a stupid book, Harry. Summon it wandlessly."
"That's impossible," he exclaimed in irritation, "What are you playing at?"
"Not impossi–"
"Oh fine! Bloody hell. Only really powerful and accomplished wizards and witches can –"
His mouth snapped shut when the book zoomed into Hermione's open hand. She arched a brow at him.
"When did you learn to do that?!" he spluttered.
"Last year," she replied.
"How?"
"I don't know Harry... I practiced." Feeling quite impatient, Hermione put the book down again, "Now it's your turn. Go on. Summon the book."
"I can't!"
"You haven't even tried!"
"Damn it, Hermione," Harry growled, "I'm not as good at magic as you are! I can't –"
"Oh, shut up!" she cried, rolling her eyes heavily, "Your humility is very endearing, Harry, but honestly... just... shut up. You're a very capable wizard. Look at what you've done! You've faced the Darkest wizard alive on so many occasions, and lived to tell the tale."
"That was BECAUSE of my wand," Harry spat, "The protection of the twin cores –"
"THE WAND IS ONLY AS GOOD AS THE WIZARD! BUT ANYWAY, YOUR WAND'S GONE OKAY? IT'S BROKEN. IT'S USELESS. STOP LANGUISHING IN SELF-PITY AND SUMMON THE STUPID BOOK!"
She hadn't realised how loudly she'd been yelling, till she caught the stunned look on Harry's face.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"I thought we weren't allowed to call the book stupid."
"Harry!"
"Oh alright," he grumbled sullenly, "How am I supposed to do this? What do I do with my hands? Do I point?"
"Whatever feels comfortable," she said tiredly.
"Er," he raised his right hand limply and fixed a distrustful eye on the book, "Accio!"
Nothing happened.
"This is stupid."
"Keep. Trying."
She didn't relent for over an hour and a half. Harry's temper rose with every unsuccessful attempt.
"Sod it," he raged, "Seriously. Enough. This isn't going to work."
"It will!" she insisted fervently, "Harry, it will. It's like learning to swim. Once you figure out the trick, you'll be able to do more than just summon things. Now come... once more..."
"Bloody bullshit," he muttered, but complied.
Another fruitless hour went by.
"That's it. I'm done. DONE. Good day to you."
"Harry," she snapped, "Get back here! You are not done –"
"Oh yes I am!"
"Listen to me, this isn't a joke – you need to learn to do this!"
"I CAN'T! OBVIOUSLY, I CAN'T –"
"– JUST TRY –"
"– BEEN AT IT FOR HOURS AND –"
"– SO UNWILLING TO MAKE AN EFFORT –"
"– JUST ISN'T WORKING – WHAT, UNWILLING?! ARE YOU –"
"– IT WILL WORK! YOU CAN DO THIS –"
"– SHIT, YOU'RE SUCH A... FUCKING ACCIO!"
And the History of Magic rose from its place and shot towards Harry, who caught it with a gasp of ultimate shock. For a long moment, they both stared at it, breathing hard.
Finally, Hermione whispered, "Oh my god. You did it. You did it."
"I – I did it. I did it," Harry parroted dumbly, "Er, will I have to be in a strop every time for this to work?"
"No," Hermione laughed breathlessly, "You want to try again?"
"Yeah."
They tried a dozen more times, and Harry suffered failure only thrice. Each time he got it right, Hermione moved the book a little further, until finally, he was able to tear it away from her while she hugged it tightly to her chest.
"Brilliant!" she cheered, and he grinned.
"So what next?" he asked.
"Bigger objects, heavier objects, until you've got it perfected," Hermione gushed excitedly, "Thing is, wandless magic is markedly less potent than that which is channelled through a wand, so I think, for emergencies, you should practice stunning and disarming. The latter should be easy... you have a rather strong, um, affinity for expelliarmus..."
'... And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their...'
Death looked an awful lot like Dumbledore, but with an inky black beard and obsidian eyes. Stern and hooded, he stood like the statue of Giordano Bruno on a bridge over troubled waters. Before him were Harry, Lupin, and Malfoy, all seeped in the hazy glow of twilight.
"I need to defeat Voldemort!" Harry cried, "You promised you'd help! Give me the power to kill Voldemort!"
"He's dead!" Lupin howled, "You promised he'd be safe! Sirius... Oh, bring him back! Bring him back!"
"I need to get out!" Malfoy roared, "You promised me a way out! Tell me where to hide... Tell me how!"
But Dumbledore simply smiled – his calm, serene smile, which looked nothing less than ominous in his current getup.
From her distant vantage point, (...was she standing on a ledge? A cloud? She didn't dare look down...) Hermione watched as the three men got more and more agitated.
"Ridiculous, isn't it?"
She looked over her shoulder at Theo, who gave her a deeply morose half-smile.
"What?" she asked.
"Them," he replied, gesturing with his chin, "Putting their faith in him. Death bestows only one gift, and one gift alone. Isn't it ridiculous, Hermione?"
Hermione...?
...Hermione...?
...Hermione...?
"Hermione!"
She awoke with a choking gasp; The Tales of Beedle the Bard slipped out of her hands and fell with a thud on the floor.
"Hermione!" Harry's face came into focus. He was flushed, bright eyed, and his hair was... dripping wet?
"What's wrong?" she croaked, "Are you alright?"
"It's okay, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm great. There's someone here."
"What do you mean? Who –?"
And then she saw him, standing hunched and soaked in the middle of the tent, holding Gryffindor's sword in his hand.
She ought to have asked questions… oh she had at least hundred questions… but she could only stare at the tense looking young man with fiery hair. She walked towards him, staring, gaping, and with each step her wonder ebbed, and cool anger (which was a strangely contrary emotion,) took over. She stopped right in front of him, and he smiled nervously. His hands twitched, as though itching to reach for her.
"You complete arse Ronald Weasley," she hissed lowly… dangerously.
"Um, hey," he mumbled stupidly. She sneered.
"Look, Hermione, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, but Hermione had already walked away.
Without looking back she said, "I'll keep watch now, Harry," and went out into the biting cold.
How was it that Harry, who'd been in a huff for days after she'd accidentally broken his wand while saving his life, had welcomed Ron back with such conviviality and enthusiasm?
Because Ron has saved Harry's life. Right. And he'd even given him a replacement wand.
They were back to being the best of friends, like nothing awry had ever occurred. Like Ron hadn't said the most horrible things, like he hadn't abandoned them at all. Hermione watched them wander about, smiling and chatting, foraging for berried like a couple of merry fucking wood dwellers from the small sunlit spot where she sat with an open book which she wasn't reading.
She felt, once again, like an add-on. There were Harry and Ron, reunited… and Hermione too, I suppose. With her nose in a book, of course, ha ha ha.
There was an unforgiving pain in her chest; how she missed her best friend. She missed him. She really, really missed him.
'Hello,' she spelled on her Galleon.
For the first time since their unconventional correspondence began, Theo didn't reply.
"Hermione! Come on. Just listen to me. Please!"
"What do you want, Ron?"
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm so... I'm really, really fucking sorry!"
"Sorry? You crawl back here after weeks and weeks and say sorry? I went running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!"
"I know! I... Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really–"
"Stop saying that! You think it's all going to be all right if you just say sorry?"
"Well, what else do you want me to say? I came back, yeah? I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yes. You're here. Fantastic. Harry's well pleased. Leave me alone."
"What about – are you... are you, er, pleased?"
"What do you think?"
"What can I do Hermione? What do you want–"
"I want Harry to be happy. You're here. So be it."
"Hermio –"
"Fuck off, Ronald."
xxx
'Hi. Sorry. Something came up.'
'Theo, please tell me you're safe?'
'I am! Perfectly safe.' –– 'Did I worry you?'
'YES.'
'Shit. Sorry.'
'It's alright. Just...' –– 'Keep the coin with you at all times please.'
'Aye aye, Captain.'
While Harry tried to levitate spoons with his new blackthorn wand, and Ron fiddled with a wireless, Hermione lay in her bunk immersed once more in The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. On the page she was examining was a photograph of the letter that Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald. Her eyes travelled across the thin, slanting handwriting, (...for the greater good...) and when she got to his signature at the end, she froze. The 'A' of Albus had been replaced by that same strange triangular eye-like symbol.
She jumped out of her bunk and rushed to Harry, saying, "We need to talk."
He cast a leery look at the book in her hand. "What?" he asked.
"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."
He started, "Sorry?"
"Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father," she said calmly, "I want to go and talk to him."
"Er – why?"
"It's that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!" She held the book before him. "The signature... Look at the signature, Harry."
It took him a while to compute it all. In the meanwhile, Ron tried to ask, "Er – what are you –?" but she shut him up with a ferocious look.
"It keeps cropping up, doesn't it?" she said to Harry, "And since we can't talk to Dumbledore or Grindelwald, we can ask Mr. Lovegood what it means. I'm quite sure this is important."
Harry considered her mutely for a few seconds. Then, looking grave, he muttered, "You just want to go see Nott, don't you?"
"What?" she spluttered, stung, "Do you really think I'd do that? Make up a ridiculous excuse, drag you out of hiding..."
"Hermione," he reasoned, "we don't need another Godric's Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and –"
"But it keeps appearing!" she rushed out edgily, "Dumbledore left me The Tales of Beedle the Bard, how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?"
"Here we go again!" Harry exclaimed in a long-suffering way, "We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues –"
"The Deluminator," Ron interrupted, "turned out to be pretty useful. I think Hermione's right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood. It won't be like Godric's Hollow –" (As if he knew anything about that) "– Lovegood's on your side, Harry. The Quibbler's been for you all along; it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"
"I'm sure this is important!" threw in Hermione, "I'm sure we ought to know about this!"
Ron clapped his hands together and said briskly, "I think we should vote on it. Those in favour of going to see Lovegood –" He raised his hand. In spite of herself, Hermione felt the smallest quiver of amusement... she put up her hand, too. "Outvoted, Harry, sorry." Ron grinned.
"Fine," Harry grunted, but even he had the ghost of a smile on his face, "Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway?"
"Luna told me... she's the Secret-Keeper," Hermione said, and took out Mr. Weasley's map from her bag. "Their house is under the Fidelus charm, but I'm sure there'll be some Death Eaters skulking around. We should apparate here," she pointed at a dense looking grove on the map, "Harry, you stay under the cloak. If we do come across any Death Eaters, stun or confound them immediately. Okay?"
"Okay," said Ron bracingly, and Harry unenthusiastically.
'LISTEN.'
'Yes?'
'Tell Potter to end the bloody war already'
'Getting bored, are you?'
'Terribly. It's all so tiring.'
'I'm sorry u r having such a tough time'
'Well then do something about it' –– 'I miss you buddy.'
'Do you now?'
'Fucking YES.'
Hermione beamed like an idiot.
"Of course that's Luna's house," Ron chuckled, "Who else would live in a place like that? It's like a giant rook!"
Hermione puckered her brow as she stared at the black tower-like structure behind which loomed a giant moon at three in the afternoon. "It looks nothing like a bird."
"I was talking about a chess rook. A castle to you."
They approached the small mossy gate, upon which were nailed three signs, 'THE QUIBBLER, EDITOR: X. LOVEGOOD,' 'PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE,' and 'KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS.'
The Lovegoods had a charming garden, dusted with snow, poetically overgrown, and full of wild plants that she wished she could spend more time exploring. Neville would've loved it here, she thought wistfully. She could imagine what it might look like in spring… a lush, violent explosion of green, with Luna wandering about in floaty linen robes…
Two large crab-apple trees, leafless but laden with bright red fruit arched on either side of the front door. As Hermione knocked, a tight ball of anticipation formed in her stomach. Her reason for visiting was utterly sincere, but god, Theo was here. He was here, just on the other side of the door. She'd be seeing Theo. Oh yes.
They heard footsteps, and slowly the door creaked open.
"Oh!" gasped Luna. And again, "Oh!"
Hermione sprang forward and hugged her. "Hi, Luna," she whispered.
"Well… hullo," Luna greeted, sounding like she'd quite recovered from the shock of seeing them, "Harry, Ron. What a lovely surprise. Do come in."
The room they entered was a semicircular sitting room, with one bright blue sofa covered with a print of tropical birds, and a pair of purple armchairs, and another one in magenta. The coffee table was yellow and dotted with red flowers. The walls depicted a jungle scene, à la Rousseau.
"Nice place," said Harry with a grin.
"Thank you," Luna replied happily, "I painted the walls, you know. Please sit. It's so lovely to see you all again..."
While she was speaking, Hermione nodded vacantly as her eyes scanned the room. Where was he? There was a moving iron staircase – much like a spiral-shaped escalator – in one side of the room... perhaps he was upstairs?
"...Hermione." She refocused her attention back on Luna, who was smiling. "He's over there," she pointed towards a door that was painted like the walls, and so was almost unnoticeable, "In the kitchen."
She shuffled towards the door as though in a trance, like she was walking through something much denser than air. Gingerly, she pushed opened the door and stood stock still at the threshold.
He was sitting with his back to her, at a (bright orange) table, working on something she couldn't see. His hair was longer than she remembered, falling over 'her' scarf around his neck and brushing the top of his collar. Stepping into the room and letting the door close silently, she simply watched him for a few seconds. Then she gently cleared her throat.
"Nearly done, Luna-love," he said, "This batch is impossibly fiddly."
Hermione's heart contracted at the sound of his voice. "Not Luna, sorry," she said softly.
His chair scraped back deafeningly, and he jumped to his feet and spun around. His mouth was hanging open as though he were silently screaming.
"Hi, Theo," she said with a grin.
"Oh, bugger," he choked, "What the fuck did Xenophilius put in my tea this time?"
"Excuse me?"
"It was that grassy shite he puts in his pipe, wasn't it? Fuck's sake!" The rubbed at his eyes furiously, and then blinked at her.
"What are you raving about?" Hermione demanded.
"You're a hallucination, yeah? Damn that devious old madman to hell."
"Theo," said Hermione steadily, "I am not a hallucination."
"Heh. Right."
She rolled her eyes. With deliberate and resolute steps, she walked right up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her head on his chest and murmured, "See?"
Slowly, his hands rose and landed on her back. "You're real," he breathed, "You're here." Suddenly, he pulled away, and gripped her shoulders. "You're here!" he shouted, "What – Why – How the hell are you here?!"
"Um," she said, but then he hugged her again, much harder and tighter than before.
"Holy Hippogriff dung! I don't believe it!"
Her giggle was muffled, and eventually she had to say, "Theo... you're crushing me."
"Oh sorry." He let go and they both sat, and Hermione finally saw what he had been bent over on the table.
"What are those?"
"Frumpleberries," said Theo with a grimace.
"They look revolting."
"They look like they taste. Where's your baggage?"
"Huh?"
"Potter and Weasley."
"Oh. Ha ha. They're in the other room, with Luna."
"How are you," they blurted simultaneously, and then laughed.
"You first," he insisted.
"I'm... oh, do I have to? Fine. It's been awful, and difficult, but I'm alive. I'm... okay."
"You look... very skinny," Theo frowned.
"Look who's talking."
"I'll have you know," he said with his nose in the air, "I am very muscular and fit. Ask Luna."
"No thank you."
"Humph."
"Your turn now," she laughed, delighted at the lovely sullen expression he was wearing, "How are you?"
"Great. My girlfriend's dad wants me dead, but as you can see, it hasn't worked out for him yet."
"You're so dramatic."
"I am not!" he cried indignantly, "He's an insufferable... er," he glanced furtively around the room, and lowered his voice significantly, "He's an insufferable wanker. And I can't even say anything, because Luna bloody well adores him. It gets marginally better when Draco visits, because, obviously, he never holds back. Old Xeno hates him more than he does me."
"Dra – what? Malfoy visits?"
"Yeah, when he has information for Remus. There's a passageway between the Room of Requirement and Hog's Head; Draco sneaks away at night. The choice was between coming here or the Burrow... well, not really much of a choice, if you think about it."
As hard as she tried, Hermione just couldn't picture a mondain like Draco Malfoy sat in that eccentric, riotous house at all. And once again, she was stunned by the reality of the world outside their little campsites. So much was happening... so many players... all struggling, striving, rebelling...
Theo's hand gripped hers and pulled her back to the present.
"You have no idea how good it is to see you," he said with a soft smile.
"Believe me," she murmured, "I know exactly how that feels."
Harry and Ron were getting a highly detailed explanation from Luna about all the elements in her mural when Hermione and Theo walked into the sitting room, and they looked exceedingly grateful to have it interrupted.
"All caught up?" Luna asked, "Good. Daddy is on his way down; he's just bundling up the final lot of tomorrow's edition."
As she went to sit on a purple armchair, Hermione gushed, "We heard what your dad's doing with The Quibbler... It's amazing. So brave..."
Luna smiled, "Yes. And it helps that we're so well hidden, otherwise daddy says we'd have been killed a long time ago."
"Alright, Weasley... Potter...?" Theo muttered.
"Yeah," they both grunted.
There was a minute of awkward silence, after which Hermione saw (with a sinking heart) a broad, evil grin break across Theo's face.
"Potter," he crooned.
"What?" said Harry suspiciously.
"Potter."
"What?!"
"So."
"...So?! Have you lost your mind?"
"So you want to be friends, eh?"
Oh god. Harry's groan drowned out Hermione's. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Nott –"
"Call me Theo, Harry."
"Nott. Can we just pretend all... that... never happened."
"Oh no! After all, you were so adamant –"
"Theo, please," Hermione begged.
"No, no, no. How can I forget all those capitalised 'yesses' and 'seriouslies'? So friends, yeah, Harry?"
Harry buried his face in his hands.
"What a lovely idea!" Luna chimed, even as Ron burst out with, "What the hell is he talking about, Harry?"
"I'm talking about Harry's plan to replace you with me, of course!"
"What... What?!"
Oh god.
But somehow, the universe had a rare – such a rare – fit of compassion. Their 'discussion' was deterred by a shocked cry of "HARRY? RON? HERMIONE?!" from the foot of the spiral staircase.
They all jumped, and gaped in absolute discombobulation at a wide-eyed, and very heavily pregnant Nymphadora Tonks.
"What are you doing here?!" Harry, Hermione, and Tonks shouted all at once.
"Blimey, you're huge!" said Ron with awe.
"Yeah, Weasley," Theo sniped, "That tends to happen when a woman is with child."
"Merlin, do you ever shut u–"
"Typical that you show up," Tonks ranted as she waddled over, "On the day that Remus is away on a mission. Oh GAH," she moaned as she eased herself into an armchair, "Anyway... how are you? Where have you been? Why are you here? Is everything okay?"
"We're fine, Tonks," Harry said reassuringly, "And we've been... pretty much all over England. We're here to talk to Mr. Lovegood. It's... well... you'll see soon enough. But how are you here?"
She mournfully rubbed her belly and sighed. "The Death Eaters came for dad. I wasn't at home... I think that was deliberate..." She paused to lick her lips, "They tore the house down. Tortured mum and left her in... in... well, a state. Then they took dad away."
"He's okay!" Hermione said hurriedly, "He got away. He was hiding out in Wales with Dean Thomas and Dirk Cresswell –"
"WHAT? You saw him?"
Ron shook his head, "Not exactly. We couldn't reveal ourselves. But we heard them talk. He sounded... alright."
Tonks let out a sound that was made purely of utter relief. "Thank... thank... fuck... Thank you." There were tears in her eyes.
"How's your mother?" Hermione enquired.
"Not good," Tonks rasped, sobbing gently, "She doesn't leave her room, doesn't eat... I'd tell her about dad, but she's finally sleeping now after weeks..."
Hermione reached across and squeezed her hand. "You know... Ron's right. You're huge. When are you due?"
Tonks huffed a watery laugh and wiped her eyes. "Six weeks. Can't bloody wait. The little terror's a kicker. Apparently I was too –"
It was then that the elusive Xenophilius Lovegood finally made his entrance.
"Mr. Potter," he proclaimed with a bow (Theo rolled his eyes), "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Good afternoon. Sorry for making you wait." He strode over to a cabinet by the wall, and began tinkering with bottles. "Infusion of Gurdyroots for everyone?" (–Theo's fingers clenched tightly around Hermione's wrist –) "Ah, except you, of course, Tonks. It's time for your bat milk brew."
"Ah! Xenophilius, do I have to?"
"Yes, my dear. You will thank me when your child is born a seer. Now, Mr. Potter... how may I help you?"
Everybody had gathered in the garden to say goodbye.
The sun was a burning ember floating between two distant hills, turning the snow into gold. Outside the boundary of the Lovegood's property, the Death Eater sentries that they'd stunned three hours ago were still snoozing in a heap on the ground.
Hermione and Theo stood slightly apart from the rest of the group.
"Did you really come here to talk about a children's story," Theo mumbled.
Hermione huffed. "Please don't. I feel stupid enough as it is."
"If you say this jaunt was a waste, I will shove you into a bush," he warned.
"Of course not," she said with mock solemnity, "I finally got a chance to sample some Gurdyroot infusion!"
Theo stuck his tongue out at her. "Awful, innit?"
"Truly," she agreed, "I feel sincerely sorry for you now."
"Why, thank you."
They hugged, and there was nothing sweet about the sorrow of parting. She then hugged Tonks and Luna as well, nodded at Xenophilius, and took her place between Harry and Ron.
"Stay safe you three," said Tonks.
"And you," Harry nodded, "All of you."
"Will do, friend," Theo quipped with a sarcastic salute.
Laughing, Hermione took hold of Harry and Ron's hands. The last thing she saw before disapparating were Theo and Luna, arm in arm, smiling at her.